The Friend He Needed

A retired lawyer finds solace when adopting a cat in this heartwarming short story set in the alluring town of Blueridge.

Aman spends his retired days alone, strolling the scenic streets and sights of Blueridge.

A cat shelter off to the town's side sneaks into his life, changing him forever, and giving him the friend he always needed.

A heartwarming short story, coloured by the backdrop of a beautiful English town named Blueridge.

The Friend He Needed - A Blueridge Short Story

Chapter 1

Even at the age of sixty-five, Aman Nassehi still stared in star-struck wonder at the wondrousness of the town of Blueridge, wherein he'd lived since birth.

His favourite place in the town was Blueridge Park, of course. The place filled to the brim with memories of the past that he adored. Memories he would never forget, and those memories would never forget him, inshAllah.

The concrete path winding through the park's centre was something out of an illustration by a world class painter. Scenic to a fault. Grass patches surrounded the path on either side, but they didn't impede on the grey. No, each strand of green carefully tucked itself to the side, as though neighbours to the path. And neighbours, in the town of Blueridge at least, were delightful, as were those regulars he saw at the mosque when attending the prayer jamat.

Dotted within the patches of grass were trees as tall as the sky, like their branches were attempting to shake hands with the sun. Aman remembered early days in his life where he'd climb those trees with his mates for a bit of fun. One of his mates even fell off one and broke his arm, causing them to laugh before they realised what happened and called the ambulance.

Sadly, most of his mates had passed on, from old age and other illnesses, but their memories still lived within Aman’s heart. They wouldn't fade until he himself faded.

On the far side of the park, beside the surrounding fences, was the play area for kids, which held the most memories for Aman out of the whole park.

Not only had he played there as a child, though the swings did look a tad different back then, but his children had played there too. All four of them. The girls, Bushra and Sadri, and the boys, Ahmad and Ismail.

The swings now shone with new life, since the council had them rebuilt a few years ago. The metal frame glistened in the light, as did the brand-new climbing frame beside it. But like most things in life, Aman preferred the old, weathered swings and the rusty climbing frame upon which Ahmad and Ismail would risk their lives and laugh like maniacs in the process.

Villains in the making, Aman used to think. But they had grown into fine men, with their own families to look after and their own lives to live, if a little distant.

Aman's wife, Zaynab, had passed away five years ago, and that bench beside the play area for kids held the most memories with her. It hadn't been the strongest bench back then, ten and fifteen and twenty and more years ago, but Aman always thought that the strength of their marital bond helped that bench stay comfortable against their aging backs.

They would watch their children play, all whilst the breeze would bring in the tickles of a sweet flowery scent, daisies and roses and the whiff of lilies like a cherry on top. And Zaynab would tuck her abaya back onto her lap when the wind spilled it over Aman's knee, but he never minded it. In fact, he cherished it, but that feeling went unspoken.

A lot of things went unspoken, actually, a lot of emotions bubbling up within Aman as his children aged and got married and left their home nest to find places of their own to belong, and as Zaynab passed away and had to be buried in the Muslim cemetery to one side of the town.

All throughout, Aman had been the rock for his family, stoic, but he couldn't hold himself together after his wife passed into the afterlife.

His kids had returned from London, where they all worked corporate jobs, after the news had broken, for the funeral and to grieve and console Aman since he'd wept the most. The formalities, procedures, lasted a few days at most. The longest days of Aman's long life.

But then his kids went back to their homes, and Aman was left alone in his, heart in tatters whilst everything in his house reminded him of his loss. From the sofa where they cuddled to the TV they watched the news on together to the bannister on which she set her scarves before wrapping them over her hair.

Everything pointed towards the past, and nothing to the future.

That was the state of life for Aman. Wake up, make sure his pension money hadn't vanished from his bank account, walk around the town and meet the regular people, perhaps eat something at a cafe and stroll along Blueridge Park, pray at the mosque, before returning home to repeat the cycle.

All throughout, he never met with any family to call his own. Saw his days through like he was  slowly dying despite the happy and sad memories which proved he was alive.

That was, until, he stumbled upon something on the west-side of Blueridge, something he'd only heard of but never seen before in his six and a half decades of living in the town.

A place called Frankie's Cat Shelter.

And not just the shelter itself, but a little feline inside the place, with beautiful black and white (with a hint of grey) fur that just invited Aman to stroke it with a hand.

And Aman couldn't stop his legs from turning and walking inside.

Chapter 2

Frankie's Cat Shelter was as quintessential as most things in Blueridge. From the skyline to the shore to the Balamory-style houses lined up inside the town centre (Balamory was Bushra's favourite show growing up), the town was rather picturesque. And the cat shelter shared in that glow.

Like the sea in the distance and its glistening waters, the shelter was painted in bright blue along the walls—more a shade of turquoise, actually, Aman realised once he stepped further into the building and closed the front door behind him.

A play area spread its wings at the rear of the shelter. As bright as everything else, it housed multi-coloured scratch toys and resting bean bag-type things, as well as all sorts of little trinkets for the cats to enjoy. Gosh, it was like a cat form of Jannah.

Behind the counter to Aman's right sat a man about the same age as himself. He had a kind smile that was easy, and crinkles beneath both eyes from a lifetime of grinning. Aman would know, he had the same thing from laughing with his kids so much as they grew up into fine people.

The man, undoubtedly, was Frankie, the owner of this establishment. Aman shook Frankie's hand, a warm hand, greeting him all the while, and then flicked a palm towards the four cats playing around to his left.

“Do they have names?” Aman asked.

Frankie shook his head, leaning on the counter and getting a good old look himself. “Got old names from when they got given to us. But nothin’ new. Don't want to give ‘em the old names their abusers came up with or those who abandoned ‘em, see. So I s'pose it's better to let the new owners come up with their own ones.”

A light smell filtered through the air, like flowers mixed with the sea off Blueridge's shoreline. Aman breathed it in, and sighed.  He hadn't felt this peaceful in a while.

“Ash,” he muttered beneath his breath, staring at that black and white cat with hints of grey fur scattered throughout. The name originated from an old cartoon Ismail and Ahmad used to watch on almost a daily basis. Though Aman had forgotten the cartoon's name or what it was about.

But, for some reason, the name described the cat perfectly, at least in Aman's opinion.

“What was tha’?” Frankie said.

“Oh, nothing.” Aman waved away the topic, before gesturing to the cats again. “How do you, uh, go about adopting them exactly?”

“Never had a pet before?” Frankie asked, a rhetorical question. “Didn't think so, you don't look the type. Look nervous an’ all.”

Frankie stepped out from behind the counter (it was only now that Aman noticed the myriad of cat products, food, and toys attached to the rear wall) and stood beside Aman.

“There's a procedure you have t'follow, of course. Gotta do inspections of where you live, ask about your work and all tha’.”

“I've got all the time in the world, trust me,” Aman said with a laugh.

“Kids all grown up and left?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I'm in the same boat, let me tell you. Tykes all got their fancy jobs now up north, don't have no time for their Pa anymore. But it's alright, y’know. Makes me happy to see ‘em successful and making it big in the city.”

Aman’s eyes followed Ash (he'd already named the cat in his mind) as he spoke. The cat was sneaking around, as though putting on a performance just for Aman.

“Whereabouts did yours go to?” Aman asked.

“Birmingham. So all the way up there, bloody ages away. Takes hours to drive up, and who's gonna look after these lot whilst I'm gone.”

“Mine are in London, so I got a bit luckier since it's closer to here. All working for the Boss, as they say.”

“The Boss needs t’give ‘em more time off, I say,” Frankie muttered, before leading Aman to where the cats were playing around. “We only got four of ‘em here, and no more than six at one time. Other shelters put their lot in cages like it's all a prison, hundreds of ‘em in one place, y'know. But that ain't happening here, not on me.”

Cages? How could anyone lock these beautiful animals in cages like they were inmates and call it a shelter? Confusion sunk into Aman, and Frankie only added to it.

“Y'see it in foster homes, don't you,” Frankie said, sitting down with Aman on a sofa placed to one side of the playing area. “Kid's been abused and gets sent to a place where they ain't treated much better. If that's how kids is getting treated, imagine these little felines ‘ere.”

Aman did wonder—at how some charities, meant for helping others, treated everything like a business, all corporate-like. Sure, businesses were ruthless and cut-throat when it came to maximising profits. But for charities to do the same, whether cat shelters or distributors of aid in poor Muslim countries—Aman did wonder why.

In any case, one of those little felines, Ash in particular, then decided to stop playing and eye Aman closely. It was as if the cat viewed Aman as a potential threat, eyes narrowed for a second whilst its body remained taut, poised.

The other cats surrounding Ash also gazed at Aman, curious most likely at the fresh face they'd never seen before. All with the most amazing eyes of different shades that Aman had ever seen.

Then, seemingly at random, Ash decided that Aman, in fact, wasn't a predator about to attack the cats. So Ash hopped across with a grace Aman had never witnessed before and jumped onto the arm rest of the sofa, right beside Aman's hand.

“Think that one likes you,” Frankie said. “Bit strange, tha’. Usually old black and white there, well she don't look at nobody, let alone the first time they come ‘ere. You must be some kinda prophet from the look o’things.”

Aman laughed. “I think we just understand each other, eh.” Ash purred, then flopped onto Aman's arm and nuzzled against it. Then Ash used Aman's arm as a pillow of sorts, closing her eyes and catching some rest after all the playtime.

“You definitely are some kinda prophet,” Frankie said with a booming laugh. A full belly laugh, the kind only middle-aged to old men could make when finding something funny.

Aman would know—he laughed like that all the time. And with Ash in his life, he would laugh a whole lot more.

“Maybe she just likes me, though I can't figure out why,” Aman said. He rubbed the cat under the chin, nervous yet filled with a deep feeling in his chest.

“Yeah, I don't need t'be a prophet t’figure that one out,” Frankie said. “And I don't need t'be a prophet to see you wanna take her to a new home.”

“Right in one…or two,” Aman said with a chuckle. “So, how do I go about this again?”

Chapter 3

If there was one thing that Aman loved about retired life (aside from being able to wake up whenever he wanted, when sleeping after fajr salah of course), it was not having to deal with mountains of paperwork. Aman, who had been a small town lawyer in a life that felt so long ago, hated the paperwork with a passion. Apparently, reading was meant to be good for the brain and stimulated those mental muscles. But lawyer-level reading—well, Aman would bet it had degraded his mind over time, and only now was retirement helping him recover.

In any case, adopting Ash wasn't the longest procedure in the world, particularly because Frankie’s Cat Shelter wasn't a large place. Aman had to fill out some forms, which he did whilst the cats pestered him to play with them after realising he wasn't a scary monster.

Aman had, obviously, obliged. And, as expected, Ash was the liveliest of them all.

Later that week, as the tides of Blueridge swept their heady sea-scent and the sun decided to rent its stay on the horizon for longer hours, Frankie visited Aman's house wearing what looked like a fisherman's jacket with a mesh hat to boot. Sadly, he didn't bring the felines with him, claiming that someone else was taking care of them while he was away.

Even without cats, a visitor was a visitor nonetheless. And in line with Islamic principles, Aman would honour his guest.

So cups of Blueridge's finest and a side order of biscuits (along with a couple samosas) it was, then.

In the living room of the usually empty house, Aman sat on his favoured rocking chair, tea table carefully set to his right for easy pickings. Frankie, on the other hand, perched on the velvety grey sofa and leaned back as though sitting on a pier with a fishing rod in hand.

Although, in this case, Frankie held a pure white mug of tea as he relaxed, then he spoke.

“Usually, what happens is people come an’ inspect the place, make sure it ain't some hell hole you wouldn't put prisoners in let alone a cat.”

Aman took a sip of his own tea. It tasted as wonderful as always. He resisted the urge to grab a biscuit, opting to save it for later. Delayed gratification, after all, was the best kind.

“So is this the inspection, then?” Aman asked. “Don't know if a cup of tea and some biscuits would count?”

“Well, that usually I said earlier is what most folks do in other cat shelters. But it's different when you're talking ‘bout folks you know.”

“We've never met before, though.”

“Mate, town like this where everyone knows everyone, you think I ain't ever heard of you? I'm more surprised you never heard o’ me, truth be told.”

It was a good point, Aman thought. Blueridge’s residents were as tight knit as water to sand during a rainstorm, so the idea that someone had never even heard of another person was rare at worst. Not to mention Aman had been one of the town's rare lawyers in a past not too long ago—the notion that Frankie already knew of him wasn't too far-fetched.

Still, Aman not knowing Frankie was a testament to how focussed he'd been on his family and work during his life, such that he'd let things like knowing people around him fall by the wayside. But now he had all the time in the world to socialise, so socialise he would.

“Well, I know you now,” Aman finally said, then he took a sip of tea. Then set it back down again. “And I know I'll be seeing you a lot more if you let me take Ash home.”

Frankie almost dropped his tea with how quickly he jerked in surprise. “You already given ‘er a name? That quickly?”

“Strange how you never asked me which cat I gave the name to.”

Frankie snorted. “Do I even need to? Obvious from the way she was playin’ all about who you're talking about. And you never took your eyes off ‘er either, let me tell you.”

“Match made in heaven,” Aman laughed.

“That it is, sir.” Frankie then glanced around the living room, before returning to Aman. “By the way, house is fine for a cat from what I seen, but you look like a deer in the headlights. Assume you ain't ever had a pet ‘fore?”

Aman shook his head, setting his tea down on the table. The biscuits still called out to him, but he resisted. “I'll have to learn, just like I did when I first had kids.”

“Yeah, I remember those days,” Frankie said. “I was blind as a bat clueless for my first born—wife had it better, but even then. But it got better pretty quickly. Guess you're gonna be like that with—what'd you call ‘er again?—Ash.”

“Ash is her name,” Aman declared, as if etching that bit of info into a stone tablet.

“How d'you know we ain't accepted the forms you filled out?”

Aman's eyes widened. “You're gonna refuse them?”

“Not a chance,” Frankie roared with laughter. He sipped the tea again, then leaned back on the sofa as though he and Aman had known each other for decades and were just old friends catching up.

“So you'll accept the forms, right?” Aman said. A lawyer—albeit three years out the job—had to make sure of the facts, after all.

“‘Course I will,” Frankie said. “Just takes a little time is all. At our shelter we got somethin’ called a trial day too, just t'see how the cats fare in the actual ‘ouse. An’ we teach yous about the cat, looking after ‘em, too.”

“When's my trial day, then?” Aman said, eager beyond anything to see Ash again. And in his house, too. That would be, as a young Ismail used to say, awesome.

“Sometime later this week, I bet,” Frankie said. “I mean, I ain't got hell else t'do, other than look after them cats. I know I said it's a trial day, but more like a trial few ‘ours. You'd know quickly if Ash takes a likin’ to you or not.”

She probably already did, Aman thought. But he was old and wise enough to know that you couldn't assume things would go one way in life. Fate had a funny way of turning the tables, and Aman wouldn't tempt it this time. Not with something this important.

“Hope to Allah she does like me,” Aman muttered, before finally allowing himself a biscuit along with his tea. It tasted amazing—everything did when shared with someone else, when not done alone.

Frankie was a new friend, Aman decided, regardless of whether Ash liked his house or not. And for that, Aman was grateful.

But still, having a cup of Blueridge's finest with Ash beside him or on his lap—Aman couldn't wish for that day to come quickly enough.

Chapter 4

Trial day came and passed as smoothly as Aman could have ever hoped for. Frankie had come early in the morning, Ash in tow in a little kennel of sorts, whilst Aman had made sure the previous night to tidy the place up so Ash wouldn't find obstacles in her way.

And so the feline didn't accidentally break anything, like old picture frames and the green and purple dinner table vase Aman's wife Zaynab loved to dine with.

Aman had never liked that vase given its hideous mesh of colours, mind you. But Zaynab had adored it, so in a way, it lived in Aman's heart too as much as he didn't want it to.

Zaynab had a way of doing that—burrowing into his heart in a way none other, apart from his children, could.

Frankie had come inside, sat in the living room, and then let Ash out to explore her new surroundings. Aman had, naturally, prepared tea and biscuits in advance, with extra samosas since Frankie had really enjoyed them the previous time.

Samosas had secret powers, after all, of persuasion. Like magic.

“Just got to explain a few things whilst she uses you as a climbin’ frame,” Frankie had said with a laugh.

Aman had been worried about nothing, in fact. As soon as she was set free, Ash meandered and climbed and ran about as if the place was already hers.

And hopped onto Aman's shoulders and back, her soft fur truly comforting, as though he was hers to play with too.

“Don't be too worried about her going out, by the way,” Frankie said, tea in hand. “Cats love t'see the outside world, ‘specially in a place like Blueridge. She'll always come back ‘ere, that's for sure. Like a north star or somethin’.”

Like children before technology came about, Aman thought, recalling his own childhood and that of his children in the latter part of the millenium. Go outside and play with friends nearly the entire time after school, and rush back inside for a curry-filled dinner just before the skies above Blueridge decided to set and rest for the night.

Nowadays, in Blueridge at least, less and less kids were playing outside with their friends. From what those around Aman had told him, particularly the younger couples, kids were playing games together online or texting each other late into the night on their phones. But outside play—that was a no go unless the situation called for it, like a town-wide football tourny or an event in Blueridge Park.

“Anything else I need to know?” Aman had asked Frankie.

“Not really,” Frankie said. “We usually hand out some leaflets to help folks that’ve never had pets before, so you can leaf through that an’ get the basics. An’ of course I'll come over as much as you need to help.”

“I'd appreciate that,” Aman said, ignoring the little flutters of nervousness in his stomach. He'd felt those same flutters when holding his first baby as a newborn—nerves over whether he could be a good father, a better husband, someone his kids could look up to, a role model not just for his family but for the community.

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, those same nerves came about when thinking of looking after Ash, a cat of all things.

But Aman, at the time whilst listening to Frankie explain the finer details, had sucked in a deep breath and let it out again.

Allah was with Aman, till the end of his life and beyond. That was all that mattered. If Allah was with him, then anything was possible. From fathering four children to, well, looking after a feline.

“Be back in a few days then, mate,” Frankie had said after handing over the leaflet along with some other websites to look through for information about cats.

Frankie had also, sadly, taken away Ash with him, back to the shelter whilst they sorted out the paperwork. But through the little window of the little kennel, Aman would've sworn he'd witnessed Ash’s big eyes miss him as much as he missed her.

Over those next couple of days, Aman read the leaflet inside out as many times as he could until the pages started wilting as much as he was. On his PC, he scoured the websites for as many details as one could gather, whilst also flicking through various Reddit posts (who knew what a God send that website could be) on what not to do to a cat.

For some god-awful reason, god-awful people had locked their cats outside or deliberately fed them harmful products or played pranks on them—harming their cats in the process.

Absolute loonies, Aman had thought whilst reading those horror stories. He also vowed (not that it was one that needed to be made) to never mistreat Ash, ever.

And he cemented that promise within his heart, right up until the cat appeared on his doorstep one day, with Frankie in tow.

Aman had, of course, set the house up perfectly for Ash to move into—it was like a cat version of Jannah. Scratch toys and little climbing frames everywhere, a toy mouse hung by a thread so Aman could play with Ash whenever she fancied, and a multi-coloured perch in the corner of the living room, decked out with a colourful eating tray and litter box.

Perfect. As perfect as Aman could manage with his limited knowledge of all things feline.

And Ash fit right into Aman's life like a hand to a glove, despite Aman's fears over not being able to care for the cat properly. Despite his fears that Ash wouldn't like him (now it seemed like lunacy to even believe that a little).

No, over the next few weeks, Ash became a staple of his life, the feline even following him outside on occasion, particularly when he went shopping or to the mosque. Ash was well behaved, polite, and the Blueridge community (particularly those at the mosque) took to the cat like they did any other resident—with open and warm arms.

Heck, even the sea's heady scent seemed to strengthen whenever Aman went out with Ash. The sun would shine its happiness brighter, and the blue waters of the sea sparkled like jewels had been embedded just beneath the waves as though treasure to be found.

Frankie did stop by and visit a few times, with tips and little hacks on looking after cats, but mostly it was just for socialising (and for samosas too, not that Frankie would admit to that). Aman and Frankie were both fathers with their children grown up, both with wives passed away, and both with a love for cats.

Not to mention they were both residents of the wonderful town of Blueridge, so they had much to bond over. Much to speak of over tea and biscuits and…well, samosas, the spiciest ones Aman could find at the local world foods store.

Aman wished Zaynab were here with him, always. Wished she could've played with Ash, sunk her hands into the feline's soft fur, tickled her stomach and hugged her like another child of theirs.

Perhaps in Jannah, Aman thought, if Allah granted him such a bounty. Perhaps there, Aman could share all the blessings with Zaynab, forever, along with his children and friends who made it to heaven.

But for now, in his rocking chair, with a paperback thriller in hand, Aman swayed back and forth with Ash in his lap. The feline of black, white, and grey had brought so many colours into his life, and would bring many more, inshAllah.

Aman grabbed his phone quickly, then snapped a selfie (albeit a wonky one, he could never get the hang of it like his daughters could) of himself and Ash, both smiling at the camera. Both sets of eyes wide and shining.

Then he sent it to the family group chat.

That'll get ‘em going, Aman thought with a chuckle, all whilst Ash nuzzled his stomach and they both leaned back with the rocking chair.

Whether his children visited or not, Aman wasn't too bothered anymore.

Because, right here and now, and for many years to come, he had just the friend he needed.

Feel free to read any of my other free short stories, or click the all fiction tab above for info on where to find my longer works.

JazakAllahu Khayran for reading.